


Walk a Mile In Another's Corset

by imaginary_golux



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Bodyswap, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 14:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13592007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: Maia and Csethiro are given a pair of beautiful bracelets for their wedding anniversary, which are meant to further understanding between lovers...Beta by my lovely Best Beloved, with whom I have never actually managed to bodyswap, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.





	Walk a Mile In Another's Corset

_“As a token on the occasion of Your Serenity’s first wedding anniversary,” the ambassador said, “our queen has sent these bracelets; it is traditional, among our people, for lovers to place these on each other’s wrists - in privacy - and wear them for a full day and night together. They are said to bring fuller understanding and deeper love, for those who are willing to accept it.”_

_“We thank you,” Maia said gravely, and one of the pages accepted the beautifully-carved box from the ambassador, who bowed herself out._

_That night, after the bracelets had been examined by Cala and Beshelar, who declared them to have no harmful maz or poison imbued in their beautiful silver filigree, Maia looked at Csethiro and raised an eyebrow in question._

_“They are very beautiful, husband,” Csethiro said, a smile hiding in one corner of her mouth. Maia wanted to kiss it. “And it would be only diplomatic.”_

_“In the services of diplomacy, then,” Maia said gravely, and slid one bracelet carefully into place on her wrist; smile growing wider, Csethiro placed the other about his own arm. It was quite comfortable, and then Maia rather forgot about it, as Csethiro’s fingers lingered on his wrist and her smile turned quite unmistakably inviting._

*

Maia wakes up slowly, feeling quite relaxed, and then notices something odd: he is curled, not around the long bolster which Csethiro gifted him some weeks into their marriage, observing that he was rather prone to clinging tightly enough during the night that it impeded her breathing somewhat, but around _Csethiro_. He lets go hastily, opening his eyes to ensure that she has taken no harm of his rather armfish-like sleeping tendencies, and then makes an entirely involuntary squeaking sound at the sight of slate-dark skin in front of his nose. He flails, and the person in his bed wakes up and rolls over and is -

Maia and Csethiro stare at each other for a long moment. Finally Csethiro says, in Maia’s most tentative tones, “Husband?”

“Dear one?” Maia says, and hears Csethiro’s voice, unwontedly shaky, emerging from his mouth.

And then, very slowly, they both turn their eyes to the silver filigree bracelets still clasped around their wrists.

There is a long pause, broken by Cala, outside the bed-curtains, saying, “Serenity? Art well?”

“We are not sure,” Maia calls back, realizing too late that it is _Csethiro’s_ voice Cala will hear.

“We cannot be indisposed,” Csethiro hisses. Maia boggles briefly at Csethiro’s familiar expression of fierce determination on his own face. “Thou hast a meeting of the Corazhas!”

“ _Thou_ hast,” Maia whispers back, and sees shock cross his spouse’s features. “ _I_ have - a formal tea with Vedero, I think it was?”

“I cannot speak for thee to the Corazhas!” Csethiro whisper-wails.

“Thou wilt have to, unless we plead mutual indisposition!” Maia replies.

“Serenity? Zhasan?” Cala says, sounding quite worried. Normally Maia would have arisen already, and be in the competent hands of his edocharei, hearing his morning’s schedule from Csevet.

“A moment, please, Cala,” Csethiro calls back, in a very good imitation of Maia’s tones. Then, to Maia, she adds, “I cannot speak for thee to the Corazhas, and thou canst hardly know my usual conversation with Vedero. But I recall the ambassador said it was customary to wear these -” she breaks off to glare at her bracelet for a moment - “these items one full day and night. Let us claim - mutual indigestion, perhaps - and reschedule for tomorrow. It is high time thou hadst a day of rest, in any case, my dear.”

Maia considers this. He does not like to shirk his duties even for a single day, but on the other hand - on the other hand, he can hardly present his thoughts to the Corazhas as _Csethiro_ , and she would not speak as he would; it would be instantly obvious that something was odd, and many of Maia’s advisors are shrewd enough to begin asking some very pointed questions.

“We must tell our nohecharei, at least, and Csevet,” he says at last.

“Naturally,” Csethiro agrees. “I can hardly hope to imitate thee well enough to fool those who know thee best.”

“Very well,” Maia says, and sits up, pulling the curtains open. “Cala,” he says, “we have...something of a problem.”

*

“We will of course present your regrets to the Corazhas and explain that Your Serenity is indisposed, but expects to be well by the morrow,” Csevet says, ears flat to his head and eyes darting between Maia and Csethiro like he’s not sure which one he should be addressing. Maia can sympathize. “And - ah - our sincerest hopes for a swift recovery, Serenity, Zhasan.”

“We thank you,” Csethiro says smoothly, “and we know that all will be well cared for in your hands.”

Csevet bows again and vanishes, presumably to take care of rescheduling everything, and Maia sags back in his chair. “How dost thou bear this _corset_?” he asks plaintively. The edocharei had been entirely unsure as to which of them to dress in imperial white, and Maia had finally had to put his foot down and declare that the _body_ of the Emperor, not his mind, was what must be white-clad, which had thankfully ended the dithering.

“How dost _thou_ manage not to stain thy clothing?” Csethiro asks mournfully, looking at the jam-smudge on the hem of her sleeve. “I have had this on scarce an hour and already I have marred it.”

“Mostly I try not to eat jam unless I am in my dressing-gown,” Maia admits. Csethiro laughs softly, and Maia is struck by the expression of easy amusement on his own face. He had not quite realised before now how distinct the lines of care on his forehead were; now, seeing, Csethiro’s mirth on his face, he wonders how often _he_ looks so joyful.

“This is _deeply_ disconcerting,” Beshelar says quietly to Cala. Cala nods vigorously. “It _will_ wear off by the morrow?”

“So far as I can decipher the maz,” Cala says. He spent nearly an hour poring over the bracelets, which neither Maia nor Csethiro quite dares take off - lest it make this strange state permanent - and declared at last that the spell wasn’t _harmful_ and did seem to have a strict time limit, most likely the day and night the ambassador had specified.

Csethiro sighs and leans back, stretching. “Well, my dear, we have nothing at all that we _must_ do today, save only keep ourselves out of the sight of our court. What would’st thou?”

Maia considers this. He hasn’t had a day without formal obligations in...almost a year, actually; they did manage to take a three-day honeymoon of sorts shortly after their wedding, which was only interrupted with major crises twice, but besides that…

“Would’st thou walk with me in the Alcethmeret’s gardens, dear one?” he asks tentatively.

“I would be glad to,” Csethiro says, and stands, and then - with a mischievous grin which looks _entirely_ out of place on his face - offers him her arm. “Might I escort thee hence, my dear?” Maia blinks for a moment, and then, slowly, mirrors the grin, and takes her arm with his best imitation of Csethiro’s hard-learned elegance.

“By all means,” he says, and lets her lead him towards the gardens, both of them giggling like carefree children. Cala and Beshelar fall in behind them, and Maia suspects they are both worrying very deeply about what to do in case there is yet another assassination attempt. Maia’s not too worried. There’s been no serious unrest for a while, and Csevet has heard nothing to make him fret more than he normally does; and in any case, the Alcethmeret’s garden is one of the best-protected places in the palace.

“Normally,” Csethiro says thoughtfully, as they make their way down one of the neatly-tended paths and Maia tries to figure out how to keep his skirts from catching on the flowers, “I would be practicing my swordplay at this hour.”

“Dost thou think it will matter overmuch, to miss a single day?” Maia asks carefully.

“Nay,” Csethiro says, “but I was thinking - dost thou think thou would’st like to try?”

Maia has had rather too much going on to _actually_ learn to fight - and in any case it’s apparently Not Done for the Emperor to carry a sword - but it does sound interesting. Behind them, Beshelar makes a strangled noise. “With padded blades,” Csethiro adds smoothly.

“Yes,” Maia decides. “I should like that.”

*

It turns out that Csethiro’s body remembers how to hold a blade, even if Maia’s mind hasn’t much of a clue, and Maia’s body does _not_ know what it’s doing, to Csethiro’s amused indignation, so the lesson turns into Maia flailing gracelessly at the pells while Beshelar tries to give him pointers and Csethiro attempts moves that Maia’s body doesn’t know how to perform and then swears when they don’t work. It’s...an oddly entertaining way to spend an hour.

Lunch is oddly entertaining, too, up until the point that Maia takes a sip of his favorite tea and discovers it doesn’t taste good in Csethiro’s mouth. He puts the cup down and blinks at it. “My dear,” he says at last, “why didst thou never tell me thy dislike for this?”

“Because thou like’st it so,” Csethiro says gently. “And I knew thou would’st offer to never drink it again. Thou gives up so much, so easily.”

Maia blinks at her. “Oh,” he says at last. “We could...we could have two teapots, thou know’st.”

Csethiro considers that. Maia is fascinated by the little lines that form between his face’s brows. “That would seem just,” she allows at last.

Maia hesitates. “Is there - is there aught else that discomforts thee?” he asks tentatively.

Csethiro reaches over to touch his hand softly. “Naught that I can easily call to mind,” she says gently, “and if such a thing _should_ arise, I shall tell thee direct, and we shall find some compromise to please us both.”

Maia smiles. “I thank thee,” he says softly. “I would - I would have thee happy, an it is at all possible.”

“I know,” Csethiro says. “And trust me, dear one - I _am_.”

*

The afternoon is, regrettably, given over to paperwork; Maia actually manages to catch up on some of the enormous backlog of things he really _ought_ to read, while Csethiro sprawls on a couch across the room reading her own pile of notes - and it is _so odd_ to see his own body in such an indecorous position, though he’s gotten used to seeing _Csethiro_ so. They have agreed to stay in the same room as much as possible, so as keep Maia’s nohechari from entirely going mad.

And then dinner, and then they are alone again in the curtained privacy of the imperial bed, waiting for the hour when they ought to switch back and can take the bracelets off, and Maia looks down at the body he is currently inhabiting, the pale skin and unaccustomed curves beneath a delicate nightgown, and then across at Csethiro, who is also regarding him thoughtfully.

“Husband,” she says at last. “I...do not wish to offend thee.”

“Speak,” Maia says. “I will do my best not to take offense.”

“Thou art...thou art very sweet, in bed,” Csethiro says delicately. “I have no complaints; indeed, I am told by many who have been wed longer than I have that I am immensely lucky to have a husband who takes such care with me. But - might I show thee what I...what I have learned I like, that thou art too sweet to dare?”

Maia blinks. Too sweet to dare? What in the _world_ -?

“I take no offense,” he says at last. “And - anything thou wish’st to teach me, I shall learn gladly.”

“Dear one,” Csethiro says fondly, and leans forward and kisses him.

Maia closes his eyes - watching himself kiss himself is a little too strange for him - and lets Csethiro do as she will, trying to memorize everything so that he can use it himself in days to come. At first, he thinks, it is much as he expects - her mouth is gentle and sweet against his, her hands warm on his waist.

And then she bites his lip, and Maia jerks as though he has been shocked. He would _never_ do such a thing -!...and then he notices how much this body _likes_ that. The slow simmering of arousal that he’s been almost able to ignore is suddenly _much_ more insistent.

“Ah,” he says dazedly as Csethiro breaks the kiss, and she chuckles. He didn’t know his laugh _could_ sound that warm and - and _hungry_.

“Thou seest?” she murmurs, and then her lips are on his throat, warm and gentle, and then, again, careful sharp teeth, and Maia shudders and clutches at her shoulders in astonishment.

“I...I do see,” he gasps, and Csethiro makes a low sound of approval and slides a hand up to the delicate buttons of the nightgown.

“I shall have to apologize to the edocharei,” she says thoughtfully, and Maia opens his eyes to ask what in the _world_ she means by that -

And she takes the flimsy nightgown in both hands and tears it apart. Maia squeaks. “Thou - thou _likest_ -?”

“Sometimes, aye,” Csethiro says, and Maia closes his eyes again and lets her have her way with him. And she is _ruthless_. Her fingers are strong and unerring, her lips and teeth constantly busy, and Maia, shivering with unfamiliar pleasure, gasping at the inexorable building of some great peak which terrifies and excites him in equal measure, cannot quite manage to take mental notes, but only let himself be swept along.

And then, quite abruptly, there is a dizzying moment where Maia cannot tell up from down and there is a great ringing in his ears, and then he is kneeling above his wife, one hand working between her legs and the other braced against the bed, his lips against her breast.

“Maia, if thou stoppest I shall be _very_ wroth,” Csethiro says faintly. Maia blinks and takes a deep breath and does his very best to finish what Csethiro started...and is rewarded when she throws back her head and cries out in ecstasy, shuddering beneath his hands, and then goes quite limp and grins up at him.

“Just so, husband,” she says breathlessly, and fumbles at the bracelet on her wrist, yanking it off and flinging it off the bed, through a gap in the curtains. Maia tosses his after it, and then yelps in surprise as Csethiro veritably _pounces_ on him, pinning him back against the pillows and grinning down at him.

“Now then, husband,” she says. “Show me what _thou_ likest.”

*

_“We must thank you,” Maia said to the ambassador, “for your kind gift. We might, however, have desired a...fuller warning regarding the effects.”_

_“Ah,” said the ambassador, flushing pink. “Well, Your Serenity, in all truth the effects are rarely...operative, you see, unless those wearing the bracelets feel true affection for each other.”_

_“Ah,” Maia said, and glanced to the side to see Csethiro also turning pink around the ears. “Well. Then we must thank you again.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 5 of the February Ficlet Challenge.
> 
> I am imaginarygolux on tumblr.


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